


fallen star, i'm your one call away

by trilobites



Series: raised by wolves [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drinking, Food, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sports, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22949731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilobites/pseuds/trilobites
Summary: Hinata Shouyou returns to Japan and learns the shape of his strangely troubled adulthood. Not without some help, of course.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: raised by wolves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651408
Comments: 33
Kudos: 516





	1. a proper run-up

**Author's Note:**

> I have AtsuHina brainrot, so please forgive me.

Hinata hadn’t kept it a secret that he was going to Brazil. He’d received too much help from too many people in getting there to do something dramatic like that. Besides, it was the kind of gesture that only seemed cool for about thirty seconds, before he’d thought about how he would have felt if one of his friends decided to pack up for Brazil without so much as saying a word. So by graduation time, the news had made the rounds. Hinata had followed in its trail soon after, saying his goodbyes and promising souvenirs to his baffled friends and family.

Why Brazil? Wasn’t two years a long time to spend so far from home? What was he going to do there when he could be training in Japan instead? One of the only people who didn’t ask him such things was Kageyama, who would sit with him on the phone for long stretches of quiet or stare at him on his Skype screen in spite of the time difference between Tokyo and Rio. The conversations weren’t regular, because they both had their own lives now, and Hinata wasn’t in the habit of staring into his past. So it surprised him one day when Kageyama said: “Miya-san asked about you.”

Hinata blinked. Which one? “Which one?” he asked.

Kageyama frowned. He seemed to be thinking about it way too long. Hinata laughed a little; Kageyama had always been bad with names. “The professional volleyball player? The one with dark hair?”

“I know who he is!” Kageyama barked. Then he muttered, “It was Atsumu-san.”

The reveal meant little to Hinata, who wasn’t sure why Kageyama had brought it up to begin with. “Oh. Well what did he want to know?”

“Where you were.”

“Did you tell him I was in Rio?”

“Well, yeah.”

Of course. Hinata could imagine already how that conversation had gone. Maybe it was a little strange and even noteworthy that Atsumu-san had asked after him, but Hinata had only seen him a handful of times during his first two Spring Tournaments. Most likely, he had brought it up smiling, as a way to egg on Kageyama, who then would have answered in that blunt, ungenerous way of his. Hinata shrugged. “Okay, then! Want to see the food I ate last week? It’s called moqueca.”

The frown on Kageyama’s face eased up. “A wha?”

“Moqueca. Look it up!”

“How do you spell that…”

“This is why you should have studied English more, Kageyama-kun,” he teased.

That was the last that Hinata thought about Miya Atsumu for another two years, until he returned to Japan in hopes of joining a new indoor team.

* * * 

The Black Jackals hadn’t been looking for Hinata, but he had joined them anyway. He quickly learned that in his two years abroad, things had changed, but also that they hadn’t—not even one bit. The smell of air salonpas, squeaking of the soles of volleyball shoes on the floor of a gymnasium, the strength and courage it took to face the opponents across the net every day. Even though he had been gone for so long, volleyball didn’t waver. Hinata had left it to spend two years out in the elements, with sand and the winds and the ocean. It had been jarring to return to the world of indoor full-time, where he didn’t have to compensate for the whims of nature, combat the glare of the sun in his eyes and the harshness of the rays on his body. Jumping and running on solid ground, with rubber in between his soles and the floor; everything was protection that he hadn’t even known to recognize before that first step onto the sand.

Maybe that was why he found himself holding back to observe the Black Jackals rather than diving in headfirst. Maybe it was him who had changed, after all.

“Hey, hey, Hinata! Your tan lines are finally fading.”

Hinata looked up from his sports drink and saw Bokuto Koutarou, resplendent even with his shirt damp with sweat. Hinata hadn’t been the only one to change. Bokuto was no longer the mercurial Fukurodani ace who had mentored him without so much as being asked that sticky summer of his first year. He had looked so big, back then. Hinata smiled. “You noticed, Bokuto-san.”

“Well, yeah! It totally gave off the impression of ‘beach’ whenever I saw the lines where your shirt covered your arms!”

From next to Bokuto, Sakusa grimaced at the sweat trailing down his neck. “Wipe up your sweat. Do you want to catch your death?”

“Huh? It’s July.”

“Don’t you know how vicious summer colds can be?”

Their corner of the gymnasium suddenly grew noisy, as Saskusa supplied rejoinders to Bokuto’s declarations that he never, absolutely never ever got sick. Hinata watched. He was about to ask about the rest of practice when a third presence came up behind them. It was Miya Atsumu, who would never pass up a chance to get a word in if he could help it.

“Now, now, Omi-kun. Don’t you know that idiots can’t catch colds?”

“What’s that?” Bokuto barked at the same time that Sakusa huffed, “No one asked.”

Hinata stood up. This was something else that he still had to get used to: sharing the court with five other players. It meant more people to fill the holes in the court, more people to fill in the quiet moments when the ball wasn’t in play. He’d gotten so used to working with a single partner. This was nice; it really was! Everyone was so lively and their energy was infectious. He didn’t want to straggle behind them, when it was all said and done. So practice. He put down his sports drink and towel when Atsumu turned to him.

“What’s happening, Shouyou-kun?”

“Practice,” he said.

The corner of Atsumu’s mouth turned up, and he called out, “Hey, look, Bokkun, this newbie’s showin’ us up! We better get back to work!”

“No fair, Hinata!”

“See? You’re such a responsible guy.” Then Atsumu smiled at him, like it was an in-joke. Hinata blinked. “Anyway, practice is practice, but I heard that there’s a team dinner tomorrow, so no skipping out. Got it, Nippon Danji Shouyou-kun?”

Atsumu’s fondness for nicknames and overly familiar behavior wasn’t new, but neither did Hinata accept this particular name for him. He wasn’t Nippon Danji, just responsible, he wanted to argue, but Atsumu wasn’t listening anymore. He was walking back to the court, focused and eyes alight as the next set of their scrimmage resumed and he returned to being an opponent on the opposite side of the court. The bright white ’13’ on the back of Atsumu’s practice jersey was stark against the black. 13, because he was their main setter, unlike Hinata, who had a ways to go before he debuted in an official game. Hinata stared after him, annoyed, until Bokuto clapped him on the back and grinned.

“Let’s show them what the best mentor-disciple duo can do.”

Hinata grinned back at him. In the face of his warmth, his annoyance dissipated. “Okay!”

Regardless of whether it was inside or out, the flooring or the sky, volleyball was volleyball. The feeling of the leather bouncing off his forearms, the sting in his palms every time he spiked a ball, the view from the summit. The way Bokuto slammed the ball in between the arms of seasoned middle blockers, how Atsumu demanded total silence for his serves, the sound of the floor when he kicked off for a good, proper jump. Those things were constant and good, and Hinata wanted to soak in every moment of it that he could.

* * *

The next day Hinata did go to the team dinner. It was at Meian’s behest, not because he’d dwelled on Atsumu’s new nickname. He ended up at the yakiniku restaurant where the Jackals were crowded into a private room with tasteful wooden brown paneling that swam in an ocean of black. All in all, it was a familiar sight that he’d gotten used to in high school. So he sat on the zabuton cushions with his team members and happily ate the servings of meat while servers continued to load the tables with fresh platters of sliced beef tongue and pork belly. Salty, savory, sweet blended together on his tongue with the different marinades and cuts of meat that appeared.

The grills sizzled continuously in the background as people laughed and joked and clinked glasses of beer. Hinata politely refused when Meian came around and offered to top up his tumbler, and watched as his teammates grew increasingly red in the faces. Oh, they’d be so embarrassed in the morning. He was trying to convince one of his fellow new recruits that their table definitely, definitely didn’t need another pitcher of beer, apologizing to the pretty server for the trouble. She smiled at him, her cheek dimpling cutely, before she left to get more meat.

Hinata watched her leaving the room, and when he turned his head back, Atsumu was standing behind him. “You came after all,” he said.

Atsumu’s hands were shoved into the pockets of his MSBY jacket and strands of his hair were coming undone from pomade that smelled warm like a vanilla bean. The back of his neck was starting to hurt from craning his head back so far. Even when Hinata was standing, Atsumu stood more than a good half a head above him. This was just unfair.

“Hello, Atsumu-san. Do you want to sit?”

“Sure.” Atsumu made himself at home next to Hinata and proceeded to stare at him. It wasn’t in the analytical way that he stared during a game or when he put the ball in the air for him to spike; the focus was the same, but he didn’t seem to want anything from Hinata. He still wasn’t sure what to make of Atsumu or the easy affection that he gave him. Did Atsumu himself even realize that it was affection? What had Hinata done to warrant it? Their conversations were brief during practice, and usually focused on volleyball more than anything else.

“I thought that you would eat more,” Hinata said, breaking the silence.

“Oh, trust me. I put away a whole bunch. Bokkun kicked me out of our table because of it.” He pointed at the table across the way, where Bokuto was in a heated discussion with Inunaki—about what, he couldn’t make out past the clamor in the room. Then Atsumu produced a bottle of shochu like a magic trick and waved it in front of him. He was smiling, like he was getting ready to egg him on. “I saw you refusing Meian-san earlier, but you know that’s bad manners, right, Nippon Danji?"

Hinata yanked his glass away from Atsumu’s reach. His voice was a little sharp when he said, “I’m not, though.”

“Huh?”

“Ever since yesterday, you’ve been making fun of me, right? Calling me ’Nippon Danji.’ But I’m not.”

Atsumu blinked. Three times his lashes fluttered in surprise. Even though he’d been the one to make fun of Hinata. “Oh. Uh.”

“I’m not trying to be any kind of way. I just have my habits, and they work for me.” Because he had to. Because for him, volleyball was as much about vigilance as it was love. His teacher had told him to be ever ready to seize the opportunities that wouldn’t fall into his grasp unprompted, and he’d never once forgotten it since that cold spring day, when his head had swam and knees buckled beneath him right in the middle of center court. What would someone like Atsumu understand about that?

Hinata felt himself flush hot, suddenly angry. The commotion born of camaraderie and cheer around him was no longer as welcoming as it had been just a few moments ago. And in front of him was Atsumu, who still hadn’t said anything. Probably because he could tell that Hinata was this close to blowing his top. There had only been a handful of times in Hinata’s life when he’d truly been angry enough to lose control of his temper, but today wasn’t going to be the day to test whether he would do it again.

“I need some air,” he muttered, and got to his feet. He walked past Atsumu without another word, ducking out into the small alley next to the restaurant where small groups of salary workers had gathered to smoke. The smell of burning tobacco and cooling asphalt mixed with the smokey flavor of meat that still lined his palate.

When he stood outside like this, it was easier to think and gather his bearings. The late summer night air was thick in Hinata’s lungs, goopy and hard to swallow for all the humidity that clung onto it. The task gave him something to focus on, and by the time he’d breathed out, he felt his head start to clear. It seemed like a good time to go home for the evening, now that he’d made things awkward between him and Atsumu. And there was practice tomorrow, too. Where he’d have to see Atsumu. Hinata clutched at his head and lamented.

“Damn it. Seriously, damn it.” He would apologize tomorrow. Probably. For now, he would go home. He felt for his phone in his pocket, before remembering that he’d left it on the table inside.

“You looking for this?”

Hinata’s phone appeared next to him, attached to Atsumu, who was holding it out. He averted his gaze when Hinata peered up at him.

“Oh…thank you.” He took the phone from Atsumu. The motion sensor brought his phone screen to life, and on the wallpaper was Natsu, smiling wide in her yellow and white club volleyball uniform. Seeing her made him soften a little. “Um, about just now—”

“Sorry.” Atsumu spat the word out through gritted teeth.

Hinata couldn’t say he was expecting that. “I was going to say sorry first,” he said.

Atsumu frowned, and his lower lip was dangerously close to sticking out. What a weird face to make while apologizing. “But I pissed you off, right? So, sorry.” Then he was sighing, scrubbing a hand over his face like he was more tired than he let on. Strands of his eyebrow hairs went jagged, and he was blushing furiously, the apples of his cheeks tinged pink. “I just wanted to talk to you, but I’m…not the best at making friends. Ugh. I mean. Whatever, you know, whatever.”

How strange it was to witness Atsumu being humble. That, more than the words of apology, made Hinata’s previous anger dissipate. There was usually only one side of Atsumu that he was allowed to see through volleyball—cocksure and pitiless for anyone who lacked the drive and talent that he’d carried on his shoulders all his life without a second thought; this self-consciousness was something new. It made Hinata daring when he answered, “If you aren’t good at something, Atsumu-san, then the only way to get better is to practice.” He smiled widely, so Atsumu would understand that he was making fun of him.

“What the hell,” Atsumu muttered.

“It’s why I went to Brazil, too, you know,” he said. Not because he thought Atsumu cared, but it seemed like something he could give as a peace offering. A sideways look at something that had hurt in exchange for Atsumu’s own insecurity. “I needed to get strong—a lot stronger—so that the best setters would want to put the ball up, just for me.”

Atsumu was looking at him in disbelief, mouth hanging wide like he’d forgotten how he was trying to behave himself. “You’re fucking crazy, aren’t you?”

“Oh. Haha, you think so?” Hinata knew he was crazy about volleyball, but maybe he was plain crazy, too. He’d never thought about it before.

Atsumu snorted and shook his head. His eyes were crinkled with real amusement, and for a moment, Hinata wondered if they had unknowingly stepped into a pocket behind the yakiniku restaurant where the rules of their normal world didn’t apply anymore. In the main street behind them, neon lights bounced from pink to green to yellow and back, washing him and Atsumu both in one unending streak.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

“Okay.”

Hinata didn’t remember what he and Atsumu talked about on the way there, but the newfound intimacy, born in the narrow, humid alley, followed them even until Hinata got on the last car that took him to his destination. Even though they didn’t understand how the other person had lived up to now, it hadn’t stopped them from trying. And so they had connected. What a wondrous thing. Hinata looked out at the platform where Atsumu stood and waved at him.

“See you tomorrow, Shouyou-kun.”

“I’ll see you at practice. Atsumu-san,” he promised, and watched as the double doors closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A 'Nippon Danji' is basically a male correlative of 'Yamato Nadeshiko.' An ideal, traditional Japanese man. Take that as you will.


	2. the view from the summit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata Shouyou really loves volleyball. Good thing for him, so does Miya Atsumu.

Hinata woke up with a dry mouth—not the morning after the yakiniku dinner, but weeks later, after a different night of festivities, one where he couldn’t refuse the drinks poured into his glass or leave for his early bed time. It had been Bokuto’s birthday, after all, and what kind of number one disciple would Hinata have been if he hadn’t stayed to properly congratulate him? Maybe it would have been wiser to congratulate Bokuto a little less enthusiastically. It would also have been wiser if he hadn’t agreed to Atsumu’s ridiculous drinking game, but he’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

Hinata’s head pounded as he walked into his kitchen, eyes still bleary from the countless shots of shochu he’d downed. They’d played a recording of an old Jackals game. Every time someone made a service ace, take a shot. Every time Bokuto’s voice could be heard above even the crowd, take a shot. Every time Atsumu’s setter dump was stuffed, take a shot. The last condition had been Hinata’s suggestion.

“The hell? No one stuffs my dumps!” Atsumu had protested loudly.

“Then it won’t matter either way, will it?” Hinata asked, grinning.

“I like that condition!” Bokuto declared, and everyone knew that as the birthday guest of honor, he had the final say.

It turned out that Atsumu’s setter dumps could get stuffed more frequently than he’d claimed. That was why Hinata was slumped over the cool stainless of his kitchen counter, pressing his forehead to the metal in hopes of some relief from the impending September humidity. He was trying to catch a break when his stomach gave a rumble, the gut-deep kind that meant he would get cranky if he didn’t eat soon. He stood and went to the fridge with great difficulty, where he stared at the ingredients and eventually accepted that he needed to cook for himself if he wanted to eat.

Stock, mushrooms, tofu, seaweed, eggs, rice, fish. Alone they weren’t much, but together, they would make him strong. Strong enough to withstand this hangover and go to practice, where he was ready to work hard again today.

The food was ready in no time, and Hinata sat at the table and gave thanks for the food. He chewed deliberately; once he started eating, he couldn’t stop. His teeth sank easily into the soft flesh of the rolled egg. He abandoned his chopsticks in favor of tearing apart the fish with his hands, ripping off the paper thin skin and sucking the meat off the bones. Living alone meant that his mother wasn’t there to scold him for poor table manners. In between bites, he washed down the food with the salty warmth of the miso.

As soon as the food started to settle in his stomach, Hinata felt better. He always did. No matter what he had overcome, when a new day’s sun cracked open the horizon, he would want to eat again. ‘You’re never not hungry, are you?’ Oikawa had remarked once in Brazil. He was right: Hinata was always hungry—always had been. The world was vast and limitless, with so much contained in it, but he had only been given one body and one life to live. It was why he couldn’t have not gone to Brazil, why he’d joined the Black Jackals and did what he needed to at his own, steady pace. Even if the people around Hinata didn’t quite understand that, it was okay. Hunger was his fuel, and he knew that hunger could only be felt by those who had never once been full in their lives. In the end, not even Kageyama could understand that, not really. Maybe that realization had hurt because Hinata knew that he had tried, too.

Hinata stopped chewing and stared down at his phone, opening up the last message from Kageyama in his inbox: ‘Yeah.’ Kageyama and his one word answers. He was about to ask him something when the phone rang. Emblazoned across the screen was Atsumu’s name and number. In his haste to answer, Hinata nearly dropped the phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, Shouyou-kun.” Atsumu’s voice was low and rough, like he was still trying to shake off the last of his sleep. Hinata startled a little at the sound of it in his ear. His face suddenly went warm.

“Hello, Atsumu-san. Did you need something?”

On the other end of the line, Atsumu sighed. “I texted you, to see if you got home okay. Guess you did. Unless I’m talking to your ghost.”

“No, no ghost.” Hinata looked back at his inbox, where a message from Atsumu sat unanswered. So had he been waiting for a response? “I got home safely.”

“S’good.” Atsumu yawned loudly. Hinata expected him to say his goodbyes now that he’d checked in on him, but his breathing was a quiet puff into the receiver. “No wonder you’re such a teetotaler. You drank me under the table last night.”

That was an over-exaggeration. Atsumu had still been able to scan his own metro pass on the turnstile when he and Hinata caught the last train out of Bokuto’s neighborhood. He told Atsumu as much.

“Nah, I think I was definitely more drunk.”

“Are we competing now?”

“With you? No way. I don’t want to die young, thanks.”

“Huh?”

Atsumu laughed, in that sleep-rough voice that was slowly becoming familiar. “Soon as I say it’s a contest, you’re gonna get all intense and try cutting someone’s throat out so you can win.”

Hinata didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. How would he get intense about drinking? He imagined a tableau: Hinata sitting across a table laden with drinks from Atsumu while Akaashi officiated the affair in his impartial referee stance. Once the contest began, of course he would try to win! Atsumu’s face would go red while they knocked back shot glasses, his eyes growing even sleepier by the minute like they had last night. The oppressive air of a summer night as they bumped shoulders while walking home. Atsumu’s weight on his shoulders when he slumped over him, forehead pressed to his neck. He’d been so resistant to Hinata trying to hoist him back upright.

“My dumps didn’t get stuffed that much.”

“You’re still on about that?” Hinata had asked, laughing. “Your skin is a lot thinner than I thought it would be.”

“S’not thin skin. It’s you. Only want you to see the good stuff ‘bout me.” Atsumu’s breath had been hot on his nape. “So pretend you didn’t see any of that.” Then he’d stood up and smiled at Hinata, his eyes crinkling long and narrow like a fox’s. “This too, ‘kay?”

“Oh,” Hinata gasped.

Back in the present, Atsumu sounded more alert than he had all morning. “What?”

Hinata shook his head, before remembering that they were on the phone. “Nothing. Well. Maybe Atsumu-san is right. I think you were more drunk.”

“Ha! See?” he crowed, triumphantly. Then, “Wait a fucking minute. Now it’s like you’re saying I lost.”

No, of course not, he reassured Atsumu. Yes, of course he would see Atsumu at practice. No, he didn’t have a hangover anymore. The rest of the conversation flowed smoothly, and Hinata could hear the smile in Atsumu’s voice when he bid him goodbye. The line went dead and Hinata slumped over the table. Atsumu didn’t remember what had transpired the night before. Either that or he was totally unbothered by it and Hinata was the stupid one with fishy fingers and a half-finished breakfast.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Wow. Wow.” He was in trouble now, wasn’t he?

* * *

Trouble or no trouble, Hinata wasn’t one to be circumspect around Atsumu. When he walked into the practice gymnasium and made eye contact with him, Atsumu seemed no different than usual. He greeted Hinata easily and talked to their teammates while they ran through group stretches. The only indication that anything was different was that his hair hung loose, most likely because he’d spent his morning nursing his portion of their collective hangover. Even Bokuto looked a little peaky when Hinata said his hellos. There was a subdued feeling in the gym at odds with the feeling brewing in Hinata’s chest. Was he disappointed? How could he be when he hadn’t expected anything from Atsumu? He looked over at Atsumu, who was stretching out his left deltoid and saying something to make Sakusa scowl.

Hinata didn’t dwell on it for long. Regardless of what was happening off the court, when it came time for volleyball, he had thoughts for little else. And so Hinata diligently went through his stretches, his serve and receive drills, and dispersed when it was time for small group practice. He was making his way to the B-Court when Coach Foster called out to him: “Shouyou!”

“Coach!” Hinata jogged over and stood in front of him, hands gathered behind his back. Samson Foster had strong eyebrows and a strong American accent that didn’t sound like the any of the ones from the foreign dramas that Shouyou had seen on TV. He had to listen extra carefully when he spoke.

“How do you feel about playing on the starting lineup for the practice match in a couple of weeks?” he asked.

“I’ll be happy whenever I get to stand on the court. If I play the starting lineup, do I get to play longer?”

Samson laughed, and Hinata grinned. “Yeah, if you can earn your spot. We both know Atsumu won’t toss you the ball otherwise.”

At the mention of Atsumu, Hinata sobered up a little. “If this is a test, then I’ll pass with flying colors.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Then why don’t you head to A-Court for this week’s practice?” Samson gestured to the side of the gymnasium where Meian stood with Atsumu and Oliver.

Hinata approached A-Court, and was welcomed into the fold with a round of back slaps. On today’s itinerary was a series of two-on-two matches. Hinata had played with all of the starting members, but this was different. He was preparing to play with them as a starter, too. It was hard to keep the smile off his face as they laid down the ground rules and divided into teams. “Anyone who isn’t Atsumu can play with me!” Meian declared loudly and immediately, and laughed with his head thrown back on his way to the opposite side of the net. Atsumu frowned, arms crossed over his chest.

“All because I served into his head once,” he muttered.

“Oh, I understand that!” Hinata said. “I served into Kageyama’s head once, and he never let me forget about it.”

The frown on Atsumu’s face evaporated, and he broke out into a cackle. “Tobio-kun? In the head? Now that I woulda paid to see!”

“I can give you a demonstration,” he offered.

Atsumu stopped laughing then. “Maybe we can skip that part, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata smiled, a bloom of affection swelling in him. He turned to face the net, standing side by side with Atsumu as the practice match began on a whistle.

* * *

Hinata’s most prominent memories of Atsumu were as an opponent on the other side of the net, intimidating and ruthless. Every time he touched the ball, he played like it was the do-or-die fight for the matchpoint. Hinata still remembered how it felt to stand in a daze in the Tokyo Metropolitan, watching Atsumu’s serve and listening to the sheer velocity the ball carried with it when it came to their side of the net. It was still jarring to play with Atsumu as an ally, to feel reassurance in his presence on the court rather than simply anticipation. Apparently, it was the same for Atsumu; he tossed the ball too high for a surprising number of rallies, catching Hinata off guard each time. Only the second time onward was he able to make something of the ball, barely dinking it over Oliver’s fingertips. There were moments, too, when his run-up was timed too slow, and the ball nearly fell in between his hands before he was able to save it with an underhand bump.

By the second set, Hinata’s stamina was starting to flag already. He’d expended a lot of energy making saves on the fly, each point hard-earned in the increasingly uphill battle. A timeout was called, by Atsumu of all people. Hinata gulped down his sports drink, preparing for Atsumu’s criticism, which usually involved cutting words served fresh with a heaping side of condescension. However, Atsumu was watching him silently. Hinata stared right back, refusing to be cowed.

“If you have something to say, it’s best to come forward with it.” He was frustrated in spite of himself. He’d been put into this practice to prove himself, not flail around like a rookie.

“I was just thinking…it seems like you’re itching for something fun to do. Why’re you being so timid? Don’t you want to have fun with me, Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu was smiling, a little sharp and very much threatening. It foretold a promise that whatever came next, at least it wouldn’t be boring. Hinata was intrigued, enough to set aside his agitation for now.

“Fun how?”

Atsumu stroked his chin. “Dunno, but say like, a freak quick. That fun enough for you?”

“Oh.” How long had it been since Hinata had last done that? It wasn’t because he’d intentionally set it aside; he’d just learned a bigger arsenal of attacks and hadn’t needed it as much as he once did, back when he’d been a hatchling who’d only known the rolling hills of Miyagi and the joy of jumping as high as he could. He hadn’t expected Atsumu to be the one to bring up the freak quick to him. Fun, he said. It was fun, though, wasn’t it? And now Atsumu wanted to do that with him, was offering it like a hot bowl of food after a long day out in the cold. “Okay. I want to.”

Atsumu grinned, and they bowed their heads together in the remaining seconds of their timeout, devising a plan to launch their execution of the freak quick. Signal, timing, height.

“I’m not picky, but if you can get it close to the antenna, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“What a cool guy line, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata gave him a look, but Atsumu’s eyes were already facing forward, glinting with amusement and determination.

“Meian-san, nice serve! Right for the head!” he called out.

“Shut up!” The whistle. Meian threw the ball up into the air and jumped. A loud smack announced the ball being launched to the back end of the court.

Hinata was there in an instant, pushing himself in between the ball and the floor. The ball’s rotation met his forearm at an awkward angle, but it was enough to bump it. Hinata’s arm stung from the impact. However, that was all secondary to his run up, which he needed to have started two seconds ago. Too late to start a quick. Hinata looked over at Atsumu, at the net, at the players on the other side. Where would he make his attack? What did the opponent expect?

Then he saw a slow, high arcing ball come up in the air just for him. Atsumu had known what he needed. ‘Take your time,’ this ball said, so Hinata did. He gathered his momentum, forward and up near the antenna, just like he’d asked for. The ball went through the block, and he didn’t waste a second in repositioning himself to his spot on the court.

The rally went back and forth, with neither side able to score a decisive point. Hinata’s world narrowed in on the ball, the players, their positions on the court. The squeak of their volleyball shoes on the gymnasium floor, the smell of the paint lining the floor, his sweat dripping down his forehead and nape. He watched as Oliver came in from behind the back line, using his height to his best advantage to spike the ball into the spot Hinata left between himself and Atsumu. Without even thinking about it, Hinata got his arms underneath the ball. There was a moment when the momentum deadened, just enough for him to pass to Atsumu. It wasn’t graceful, but there was no time to dwell on that. The ball was up in the air, and if he didn’t hurry, it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Not yet. The ball hadn’t dropped yet. Hinata scrambled to his feet and slammed himself forward. Putting velocity into his small body had always been the most natural thing—the one thing he’d known how to do without being taught how to. A kick off the floor, to the highest point he could reach. Down the center where the blockers would be, because time was of the essence. What was next? It only mattered if he could do what he had to now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the incredulity and irritation on Atsumu’s face. Time seemed to slow, until Hinata could pinpoint the empty spaces on the court, the cracks in between the blocker’s defenses. He lifted his arm. Atsumu would bring the ball to him, he knew it.

‘What’s wrong?’ he wanted to ask. ‘Don’t you want to see it, too? Who’s the one being timid now?’

He swung his arm, and the ball was right there for his palm to smack down. Whoosh and bam! It hit the floor before he did, because for one glorious second, he was flying again. One second of flight was all it took for him to see the view from the summit. Even in the familiar confines of the gymnasium, with the green and orange flooring that had become a second home, this view was special. He’d wondered, after all this time, whether it would be the same to see this with someone else. He was glad that it wasn’t, that he’d been given this heart-stopping moment of proof that constant evolution and change could be his.

Eventually, Hinata had to come back down to earth. The moment ended as soon as it had begun, and the sounds of the match came back to him. Their teammates had gathered around to watch them and were exclaiming loudly. Atsumu was as excited as they were. His eyes and smile were wide, expression full of exhilaration and something else that Hinata was surprised to recognize as pride.

“What the hell was that! I said I would signal to you!” Atsumu laughed. His hands were ruffling his hair. Hinata stared up at him, feeling a little dazed and euphoric at the same time. So he _could_ do it. Those times in high school, when Atsumu and his brother had launched their freak quick without so much as a lick of practice, hadn’t been a fluke. The ball had been in the perfect place at the perfect time, and all Hinata had needed to think about was whether he could be there to meet it.

“You really are amazing!” he exclaimed.

Atsumu faltered, blinking rapidly. His hands dropped. “Wh-what?”

Hinata laughed. His lungs were on fire and his eyes stung from the sweat dripping into them, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so full. His heart was full of love—for this, for the accomplishment of achieving something new with a partner whose love for volleyball was just as fierce as his own. And there was no room for doubt about whether Atsumu loved volleyball the way he did: wholly and all-consuming. “You. You’re really amazing, Atsumu-san. I knew I would find a strong setter to play with me in Japan.”

Atsumu gaped at him, his brows drawn up in a little arch. Apparently when he was speechless, his cheeks flushed pink and his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s. Ridiculous. Everything about him was. Hinata smiled at him, this ridiculous, prideful setter who dared to reach for the summit alongside him even if he couldn’t be the one to see down its slope.

“Let’s do that again! At least a hundred times.”

Finally, Atsumu gathered his bearings enough to respond. “A hundred? Yeah, let’s start with two first, you total freak.”

“A hundred. I’ll make sure of it, Atsumu-san!”

Atsumu snorted. “Fine. A hundred. Hell, let’s make it two hundred.”

“Deal!”

Reenergized, Hinata ran to his spot on the court and waited for the whistle to resume the match. There was so much volleyball that he wanted to play, and only this time right here. He would do everything he could to make the most of it.

* * *

In the end, they lost their two-on-two match against Oliver and Meian, 3-4 because Hinata had been too excited to stop at just five sets. The entire gym buzzed to life, and even when the official practice had ended, many people stayed to watch Atsumu and Hinata and their freak quick. Afterwards, Meian and Oliver were collapsed on the floor, with Hinata and Atsumu in similar straits nearby. The smell of sweat permeated, and Hinata could tell that his muscles would ache in protest tomorrow. For now, though, all he could feel was the contentment of a match well-played.

“Hey, what’re you looking so happy for? We lost, y’know.”

“Hmm. Yeah, but wasn’t it fun?”

Atsumu only breathed for a moment, before he said, “Yeah, it was.”

The sweat on his nape was cooling, and Hinata suddenly became aware of all the corners where he was sticky and wet. He sat up and took a long swig of his sports drink. The muted sweetness satisfied some of the burning in his lungs.

“Kinda seemed like you were holding back. Before today, I mean.”

“Huh? But I wasn’t.” Where was that coming from? He peered down at Atsumu, who was staring up at him from his spot on the floor. There was a pensive look in his eyes. “I wasn’t,” he repeated.

“Okay.”

“I’m just trying to take the right path.” Then he said, “Because before, when we were in high school, I hurt myself pretty badly at Nationals. Actually, I think I hurt my teammates more? I got so caught up in what I wanted that I didn’t even think about what could happen to my body.” He didn’t know why he was saying any of this, when Atsumu probably knew nothing of it and had only been asking about his condition in the present.

Atsumu didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know how to. Most people wouldn’t. It didn’t matter, anyway. Nothing anyone said could change what had already happened. Hinata shrugged. “Well, you probably don’t remember that. It was such a long time ago.”

Atsumu’s mouth opened, like he was going to say something, but then Bokuto bounded up to them. All traces of his birthday hangover were gone. He grinned down at Hinata and Atsumu both. “Nice going, Hinata, Tsumu-Tsumu. But also, no fair! I wanted to play against you, too.”

“Next time you can,” he promised.

“I’m gonna go all out. I swear on it.”

Hinata beamed. He had only ever known what it was like to play on the same side of the net as Bokuto. How lucky he was to have so many strong allies. “Okay, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto held out his hand and helped Hinata off the floor. His knees were weak, and there was the deep-rolling hunger forming a pit in his stomach. Bokuto’s shoulder bumped into his as he started to tell him about a very delicious bento he’d eaten last week. He turned back to Atsumu mid-conversation to wave.

“Bye, Atsumu-san. I’ll see you at Wednesday practice.”

Atsumu hesitated before answering, “Oh, uh, yeah. See you.”

Hinata left the gym with Bokuto by his side, and they compared their favorite onigiri fillings as they went to the showers. The temperature of the water was erratic, but the sensation of sweat and grime washing off his body made it worth enduring the switch between hot and cold. Bokuto let him borrow his small towel to dry off his hair. Hinata promised to return it soon (“Okay, thanks. Akaashi likes you a lot, but he gets really grumpy about the towels”).

They parted ways in front of the locker rooms, and Hinata walked down the hallway to the main entrance of the gymnasium, with the glistening trophies held in the glass showcase. Cohorts of Jackals had stood here and brought glory to their home gym. Hinata was examining one of the plaques when he felt the air rush out of the room as one of the double doors opened. In the threshold stood Atsumu, whose hands were fisted on either side of him.

“Oh, hello, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu didn’t return the greeting. Instead he strode up to Hinata, with so much purpose in each step that Hinata found himself holding his breath in anticipation. This close up, Hinata had to crane his neck back to properly look at Atsumu. His fringe was wet, two shades darker than its normal color, and his mouth was twisted into a frown. He put his hands on Hinata’s shoulders. Hinata was really surprised now. He saw his own anticipation mirrored in Atsumu’s face.

“You’re not weak,” he said, suddenly.

Hinata tilted his head. “Um…I know?”

“No. I mean you never were. You were always—I always—I noticed it about you, a long time ago. At your first Nationals. And even when you fell, it wasn’t ‘cause you were weak.” Atsumu’s large, warm hands squeezed his shoulders through the thin fabric of his jacket. “It’s ‘cause you’re hungry, right? S’why you went to Brazil and back, but you’re still hungry for more. Like a pit with no bottom.”

Hinata’s breath caught in his throat. The ache in his stomach was gnawing at him. Atsumu felt it, too, he thought, this relentless wanting that never waned.

“I know what it’s like. I’ve never been full, ever. I’m greedy, like, really greedy, but that’s okay, right?” The earnestness in his expression was so tender. Hinata hadn’t even known that he could look like that. He reached up to brush back Atsumu’s fringe, to get a better look at him. Atsumu’s eyes were brown and cool, like an autumn night, but he burned hot inside for volleyball. Hinata remembered sitting in his bedroom in Rio, where the simple sound of Japanese from Kageyama’s mouth had been a relief enough to make him cry. ‘Miya-san asked about you.’ Which one? This one. The greedy one who had wanted for him all this time. The one who shared his ineffable hunger for more.

“You’ve already been greedy like this up until now, haven’t you? Suddenly you want my permission for it.”

Atsumu’s nose wrinkled. “Shut up,” he muttered, immediately, before he seemed to remember that he was trying to be good. “Wait. I mean—”

Hinata smiled. “You’re funny. I already know what you’re like, even if you want me to know only the good sides of you. You did call me a scrub the very first time we met.” He was gratified by the sight of Atsumu blushing again. His face was warm to the touch. “Besides, I like the side of Atsumu-san that’s a little wild.”

Atsumu’s eyes went wide. It was unbearably cute. If it was like this, then Hinata could accept having to lean up on his tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured.

“Oh. Okay.” Atsumu’s entire face was red now, up to the tips of his ears.

Hinata grabbed him by the collar of his track jacket, which he still preferred to zip up to his chin like he hadn’t grown up one bit from playing on Inarizaki. Except he had—enough to do things like openly admit to his faults and be attentive to what Hinata was thinking and feeling. So he kissed Atsumu in the dim lighting of the gymnasium foyer, unfettered by what they used to be when they were only children. This moment so much more immediate. Atsumu’s hands were bunched into his jacket at his back, his breath shaky as Hinata pressed their lips together. It tickled his cheek every time Atsumu exhaled. When they parted, Atsumu’s eyelids were heavy, lips slick. Because Hinata had been kissing him. He was struck with longing.

“Come here.” Atsumu did at once. He pulled him down and kissed him again, and this time, there was none of the hesitation from before. Their kissing was open-mouthed, growing wet with the desire that passed between them. Atsumu sighed and Hinata swallowed the sound of it, buried it deep inside of him to keep. He pulled back and ran his thumbs over Atsumu’s cheeks. There was no part of this that he wanted to miss.

“I’m greedy, too,” he said. There was no need for Atsumu to worry in that regard.

“I know.”

“Is that why you like me?”

Atsumu huffed. “You trying to embarrass me?”

“Yes. You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” He laughed at the surly expression on Atsumu’s face and kissed the underside of his chin. “I like you, too.”

Atsumu’s mouth wobbled, and he buried his face in Hinata’s neck. “Shouyou-kun…”

Ah, he really was cute when he was embarrassed. There was no helping it. Hinata pressed a kiss to the side of Atsumu’s face, the tip of his pink ear. He soaked in the feeling of Atsumu’s weight against him. It didn’t feel so different from the night before, or from the touches they’d shared even before that. Maybe in a way, this was where they had been coming to all this time, and only now was it clear to him. No path was straight and narrow, but in the long, winding one that he’d taken, he had ended up here, converged with Atsumu’s unyielding trail. Who knew where it would take him tomorrow? All he knew was that he wanted to see how far it could go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading to the end. I wrote about some feelings I had on volleyball and Shouyou-kun. He is a good boy. Title is directly taken from 'Sanctuary' by Joji.


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